27.

Nathaniel staggered with an unsteady gait beneath the arched black rock wall. Joe had joined him, but the young man stubbornly refused his assistance. The natural opening had received no special camouflage care. A simple thicket of broom grew in front of the wide fissure, which seemed to end in a cul-de-sac. However, a narrow tunnel opened up in a dark corner. The young man entered it, bending his head for a few yards to avoid hitting it on the ceiling. Behind him, the heavyweight bent over, grumbling.

"When are we going to widen this place? I always feel like a Cro-Magnon returning to his cave."

To contradict him, the corridor's path was underlined by a thin artificial light. Two dim bluish lines, insufficient to dispel the ambient darkness, but which indicated the direction to follow like two phosphorescent railway tracks.

The passage broadened, allowing them to stand up and continue more comfortably.

The silvery light of the full moon didn't reach these depths, and an oppressive gloom filled the natural gut. Without the guidance of the faint blue illuminated lines on the floor, they would have had to feel their way along the wall with their hands.

They soon reached a fork in the path. Slightly to their left, a distant pale halo seemed to indicate the end of the rough-surfaced tunnel. Nathaniel took this direction without hesitation.

A lingering smell of persistent humidity prevailed, but the ambient temperature did not change noticeably. It was already cold outside in October, which smoothed the gap between the stone sanctuary and the forest.

"I don't know how you manage to live here... You're like troglodytes! We're better off in the village, aren't we?"

Nathaniel shook his head, wishing he could lecture the adult on this outpost necessity. Especially on the need to remain discreet to avoid drawing the Sapiens attention to the presence of the Council's members. He merely huffed and puffed, pressing his side.

They continued towards the only source of light. The echoes of Nathaniel and Joe's footsteps rolled against the rock like the rumblings of a distant storm.

The darkness receded as they advanced. The two fugitives soon emerged into a vast domed room, converted into a makeshift warehouse. Around its perimeter, flexible tubes suspended seven feet above the ground illuminated the premises. They emitted a cold, slightly greenish glow that cast no sharp shadows, but gave everything a waxy appearance. To their right, a wide plank on two trestles served as a table. Some food and bottles cluttered it. Metal and plastic shipping crates were stacked along the walls. Others, scattered about, served as seats. A man sat on one of them, with his back to the entrance. He was sipping a glass of homemade whisky. Despite the dull light, his shaggy red hair sparkled.

"Nathaniel..." he commented, confident, without even turning around.

His tone sounded warm and inviting. Nathaniel sensed a hint of relief.

The drinker placed the half-full glass of honey-tinged liquid on the edge of the table, and stood up. Tall and slender, the top of his head reached the light tubes. His thick green-and-black-checkered shirt was tucked into his jeans.

As the young man remained silent, the redhead turned to face him. Well into his thirties, his thin face with its discreet wrinkles tightened.

"Joe..." he trailed off coldly as he caught sight of the other man.

A frown contracted his brows, and his large emerald eyes narrowed with severity.

"Aidan..." replied the hound in the same tone.

The giant ran a hand over his short, flaming beard, wondering how to start the conversation.

A soft but firm voice from a corridor perpendicular to the one used by the newcomers defused the situation.

"I asked him to come. I was worried about Nat."

Nathaniel's fists clenched and his chin dropped to his chest. He let out a heavy sigh. Frozen in place, he threw Joe an evil look.

"But it was he who..."

The woman who had spoken approached with a feline gait and interrupted him by placing a hand on his shoulder. Her arrival in the vaulted room had changed its mood. A strong, dark aura surrounded her, commanding respect. A little shorter than Nathaniel, she wore a thick beige knee-length dress with a wide belt around her hips, brown boots covering her calves and two dense ebony braids resting on her chest. Her features and dark eyes were not unlike those of the young man. But hers were imbued with a restrained strength.

"Gwìsis?" ["Son" in Ojibwe-Ottawa, dialect of the Algonquins and Anishinaabe North tribes]

With his fists still clenched, Nathaniel was seething.

She did not exchange a word with Joe and just thanked him with a look. He greeted her with a brief nod and withdrew silently, taking no further notice of the others.

"You're hurt," his mother remarked, looking at Nathaniel's side.

"It's nothing, the bullet just went through the flesh."

"Do you want me to take care of it, Ruth?" Aidan asked from behind her.

She smiled at the giant as she supported Nat towards him. Aidan, a healer with an affinity with plants, was more than qualified to treat his son's wounds.

The giant approached to examine the teenager. Nathaniel ignored him and questioned his mother.

"What's the big brute doing here?"

"You were taking too long to come back; I sent him to find you."

Aidan guided Nathaniel to one of the crates and sat him down to inspect his wound in the light. He fetched his first-aid kit and, upon his return, whispered to Ruth: "It's going to hurt, talk to him to keep him occupied."

As Aidan, on his knees, put his hand on the wound, the mother squeezed her son's shoulder with tenderness. "He's not so bad..."

Nathaniel shook his head with a slight grin of pain. "He's a madman, he'll do anything to satisfy his hatred of Sapiens! I'm sure he's the one who blew up the generator."

He let out a groan to fight the throbbing that radiated from his hip under Aidan's manipulations. His mother seized the opportunity to calm him down. "I'll talk to him..."

Aidan judged the moment opportune to intervene. "And what exactly happened to you?"

Nathaniel, happy to change the subject, recounted his escape through the forbidden zone. "I didn't think they'd follow me into the forest..."

Aidan frowned. "Surprising, indeed... Even with their injections, there aren't many security patrols that make it out of the urban environment these days."

"This wasn't just a patrol... They had air support."

"An A.N.B.!?" Ruth intervened.

"Squadron 1723 to be exact," added her son. "I saw the insignia on their exoskeletons."

Aidan was finishing bandaging the wound that appeared already almost closed.

"We'll have to be extra vigilant on our next outings if there's an Anti-Naturalis Brigade prowling the area."

The young man stood up and tested his movements with the bandage.

"Without their shuttle, I'd have lost them easily."

"Not too tight?" Aidan asked as he put his kit away.

"No, it's perfect, thanks."

The giant got up to put his equipment away.

"The explosion was so intense... It was as if the forest itself set on fire," Nathaniel continued, recounting his adventure. "I thought I was going blind and deaf at the time."

Aidan stopped dead in his tracks, his complexion turning pale. His previously discreet freckles stood out on his cheekbones.

"What did you say?"

Ruth and Nathaniel turned to him, surprised by his inquisitive tone.

"Uh..." Nat stammered. "I was talking about the missile, why?"

The giant hurriedly put down his briefcase and turned back to the young man. "A blinding explosion? Like the forest was set ablaze? Is that what you said?" Aidan insisted, shaking him.

Nathaniel looked at him as if he were dealing with a madman. "Yes... something like that... It was rather intense, why?"

"Aidan? Are you all right?" Asked Ruth. "You look pale!"

He rubbed his beard and muttered: "Tha 'ghealach air a cainneil... " ["The Moon is on her candle": Scottish expression used when the Moon is shining in a cloudless sky. Overused in reference to the full Moon.]

He leaned over and put both hands on Ruth's shoulders. "What's Joseph's name?"

Ruth frowned. "What?"

"Joseph! What's his name? His surname?" Aidan insisted in a fit of excitement.

"Mercatoux... But I don't see..."

"No, no, the Sapiens had given him a nickname during the big televised hunt!"

Ruth stared at him, unable to understand what was going on in Aidan's head. She explained: "He was part of London's latest broadcast. They'd taken his mother's maiden name to make it more local: 'Silver'."

"Silver! Silver!"

Aidan loosened his grip on Ruth. He was now rubbing his lower lip with his left thumb's nail. He jolted with excitement and his green eyes sparkled like a child's.

"The full moon... Silver... the forest ablaze... the intervention... it's all there!"

Mother and son looked at their friend, undecided but curious. They would have liked to know what was going on under his fiery mane.

Aidan now stared at them in surprise.

"Coinneach Odhar, the seer of Brahan? Does that mean anything to you?"

Nathaniel and his mother shook their heads in unison.

"The clairvoyant of the Mackenzie clan?"

Ruth thought for a moment, recalling the name. "Isn't he the 'Scottish Nostradamus' of the seventeenth century?"

"Yes, he is! He's long been known by that moniker. Even if Odhar's prophecies have always been much clearer and more direct than the tortuous, enigmatic allegories of his French counterpart. He predicted the end of the Mackenzie, the railway, the automobile, electricity... Precise, focused visions, only the last of which has yet to come true."

He ran across the room, knocking over an empty plastic container in his haste, and returned to them rummaging through a canvas backpack. The echoes of the container's fall had not yet finished resonating when he pulled out a shriveled old book with yellowed pages. "Compendium of Celtic Beliefs, 2044 edition, a gift from my father. The last paper prints."

He flipped through the pages for a few moments and laid the open volume flat on the makeshift table.

"There!"

Ruth approached and Nathaniel leaned forward to get a better look. They stared at each other doubtfully: the contents of the Gaelic-printed book revealed as impenetrable as if it had remained closed.

Seeing their confusion, Aidan pointed his finger at a passage in the text. "This is Odhar's last prophecy. I'll translate it for you: 'The night of the full moon, which will see the forest ablaze by the intervention of Silver, will herald the coming of the People's new prophet. Where the energy of the saved warrior was renewed, on the night of Samhain, the way will be revealed to all brothers and sisters.'"

Nathaniel stood in awe as a wrinkle creased his mother's forehead. Aidan watched them, hoping to catch a glimmer of understanding in their eyes.

"You understand," he explained. "The fact that 'Silver' is used as a proper noun has always made this prophecy a bit strange, but now?"

"It's the week of the full moon." Nathaniel conceded, unconvinced.

"Exactly! And you said it yourself about the missile hitting the clearing: the forest seemed to be set ablaze."

"The intervention of Silver..."

"He intervened for you, the Council's 'saved warrior'... Ruth? Nathaniel? Samhain starts at the end of the month!"

Her brow still wrinkled, Ruth tried to sort out her friend's words. Her gaze lost beyond the rock wall, she whispered between her lips: "The eighth fire..."

Aidan, in turn, expressed his complete incredulity. Nathaniel, on the other hand, had turned to his mother. "You think that..."

Aidan spread his hands. "The eighth what? Would you care to explain?"

"Fire..." Ruth asserted in a firmer voice. "The eighth fire."

"It's like a prophecy," Nathaniel commented to Aidan.

"It's a little different," Ruth suggested, beginning to explain. "In Anishinaabe tradition, there's a legend called the 'Prophecy of the Seven Fires' that's been passed down from generation to generation. According to the ancestors, seven prophets appeared one day to the 'Good Men.'"

"This is one of the meanings for 'Anishinaabe,'" Nathaniel interjected, seeing Aidan's incredulous expression.

"Exactly," his mother confirmed. "Each prophet recounted a premonition, called a 'fire.' Each fire told a specific era that the Anishinaabe people would go through in the future. The first spoke of travel and vast expanses of water. The second referred to the pooling of knowledge and collaboration. The third heralded a new source of food to conquer hunger. The fourth announced the arrival of fair-skinned tribes."

"The fifth fire," Nathaniel continued, taking over from his mother, "was to mark the period of the 'promise.' Some would believe in the promise made to them by the light-skinned tribes, others would not. Thus splitting the people between those willing to abandon the traditional ways and those wishing to retain the elders' teachings."

"The sixth fire," Ruth continued, "was to highlight the false promise of the fifth. Children and grandchildren will turn against the elders, a new unknown disease will strike the people, many will not join the great migration, leaving their descendants to be educated by the light-skinned tribes."

"The seventh fire will represent the period when the elders remain silent, because no one will call upon them again. Ancestral knowledge will be forgotten. However, a new people will emerge in search of the lost path. Their task will not be easy, and if they fail, values will be lost forever. But if they remain strong in the Quest and don't make the same mistakes as the ancient people, then the eighth fire, the sacred fire, can burn anew and usher in a new era of prosperity..."

Aidan let out a long whistle. "Not an easy story!"

"Thousands of years of oral teachings," Ruth explained. "There were no written records or serious studies until the middle of the twentieth century."

"And what does this have to do with Odhar's vision?"

"The history of North America's colonization confirms the first six fires. Migration to the Great Lakes, gathering of scattered tribes to form the Anishinaabe people, discovery of wild rice, arrival of the Europeans, extermination of the Anishinaabe by settlers, epidemics of whooping cough, measles and smallpox, removal from their lands, creation of reservations. The seventh period, assimilation, stretches from the seventeenth century to the present day: important teachings are lost, but a new people emerge..."

"You mean?"

"The Naturalis... of course. It's my belief that we are this new people. Although the Naturalis have been around for millennia, the knowledge of our existence is very recent."

Aidan remained pensive for a moment at Ruth's words.

"What my mother forgot to tell you, Aidan... is that there is mention of an eighth prophet. A prophet whose vision is to guide the new people into the eighth fire, the era of new prosperity and balance."

Ruth stood before Aidan.

"A prophet whose coming will be heralded, and I quote from the prophecy: 'by the intervention of a light-skinned tribesman to save a warrior faithful to the Quest'..."